


There is no universe in which Dean Winchester respects protocol

by JoCarthage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:57:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoCarthage/pseuds/JoCarthage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel are firefighters and get caught in a fall-in. A one-shot I wrote for the same writing exchange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There is no universe in which Dean Winchester respects protocol

“Dean,” Cas’s voice was a rough whisper and it hurt to hear it. The hunter leaned in closer over, pressing his ear to his friend's mouth to catch the faint words through the roar of the fire raging around them.

“Get the fuck out of here, you imbecile,” Castiel jerked out of his group, face turned away.

“Nah, I think I’m going to hero it out of here, princess-carrying you all the way. Asshole.”

Castiel shook his head, harder than he should have been able to with the beam crushing his hips. He started to wince and powered through it, maintaining stiff eye contact with his partner.

“You can’t. You need to get out. Now.”

Dean ignored him, crouching away to see if there was an easy pressure point on the beam to start lifting it. There wasn’t. Just his luck, nothing in this rescue was going to be easy.

“Take a deep breath, buddy, I’m getting you out here,”

“Dean--” But whatever Castiel was going to say next was lost in a renewed roar from the inferno on the floor above their heads and his own agonized coughing. Dean thanked Mother Mary for his fire-proof gloves, hot and sweaty and clunky-as-shit as they might be, without them he wouldn’t have fingers left after shoving his hands under the ember-riddled and charring rafter and lifting. Halfway through he remembered to lift with his legs, but the screaming in his back told him the damage was done. _Maybe if I get medical leave at the same time Cas does, I can finally show him the rest of Star Wars. Poor sop can’t die without seeing_ A New Hope.

Dean tuned back in to Cas stifling a grunt of pain, his already-masked face partially hidden behind a too-large glove. Dean pretended he didn’t see the pain-tears in his friend’s eyes and tried to keep the weight of the beam off his legs as Castiel tried to scoot himself back. Dean ended up shoving his friend’s legs for him, they weren’t moving so well on their own, and he laid the wood carefully down on the disintegrating floor.

He ducked his head down to his radio: “I’ve got him, Bobby, I’m coming down.”

Cas wasn’t in a good way, mumbling and writhing and generally being an unhelpful shit as Dean scooped him up in his arms and started back down the hallway to the still-stable-for-now stairs. For his back and their respective dignities he didn’t princess-carry the whiny dick, but he did move as quickly as he could, head down, eyes scanning only exactly as much as they needed to.

He could feel Cas’s labored breathing, hear his voice keeping up a steady rhythm in his ear. He tried to listen in, but it sounded like, “You idiot, I can’t believe you’re doing this, protocol needs to fucking mean something for it to matter. You needed to have left me,” And Dean tuned it back out.

He stepped into the clearer air, eyes adjusting to the darkness punctuated by the flashing lights of his home truck, and then there were bodies, arms taking Cas’s weight from his shoulder, urging him forward, away from the fire, pulling his mask off, pulling his ember-studded gloves off. He saw them load Cas onto a gurney and took the first clear breath he’d had since the roof came down in their laps.

He sprinted over to Cas, holding them up for a second and leaning down to whisper, “I wasn’t going to leave you, you idiot. I love you.”


End file.
